


Kidnapped Moth

by BatsAreFluffy



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: No Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 14:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy
Summary: Consciousness is not always a blessing. I’ve woken too many times to situations that Brucie Wayne would much rather have slept through, random kidnappings being the top of his list. There are perks to waking up to a nurse checking your vitals after being pistol whipped in the face. You skip the humiliating aspects of being tied up and fighting every instinct to not let yourself out





	Kidnapped Moth

**Author's Note:**

> So, I haven't written anything since my mother passed away six years ago. She was my editor, sounding board, and biggest fan. But now it feels like I can go back to playing in the land of beating up my favourite characters.

 

 

Consciousness is not always a blessing. I’ve woken too many times to situations that Brucie Wayne would much rather have slept through, random kidnappings being the top of his list. There are perks to waking up to a nurse checking your vitals after being pistol whipped in the face. You skip the humiliating aspects of being tied up and fighting every instinct to not let yourself out.

 

Another concussion to add to my list -- the pounding in my skull keeps time with the floor rattling under my knees. Breathing is hard – possibly three cracked ribs on my left, more likely five on my right. My left wrist is oddly numb and piercing agony at the same time – dislocation and nerve damage, most likely temporary. Left shoulder feels out of alignment – one good punch should pop it back into place. The same can be said for my right knee; strong kicks with it are ill advised. I’m slowly loosing feeling beneath my knees, due to circulation issues. I must have been kneeling for well over an hour. 

 

Both cufflinks and watch had been removed, as well as my belt and shoes - four tracking devices gone. Alfred may not have any idea where I am, only that I was attacked on the highway from Metropolis. Having a transport truck blind side you mid-phone call would be a tip-off to anyone. I’m not even sure if I managed to say who it was that took me off the road before the air bag did its job enthusiastically.

 

Tensing each group of muscles, I can feel two sets of cuffs on my wrists. Both arms are twisted behind me, pulling my injured shoulder just enough to keep me off balance. There is a heavy feeling to the links, and I’m not shifting with the movement beneath me. Both ankles are solidly locked to the floor, driving my knees into the hard surface. A solid collar rests around my throat, pulling my head back. My jaw is forced open to the point of straining – an expertly fitted ball gag is buckled behind my head. I understand the horror now of being pinned like a moth on display.

 

“Beloved.”

 

And there is my curator.

 

She stood firmly in front of me. Even with blurred vision, Talia al Ghul’s smirk is self indulgent and plainly victorious. The four assassins behind her are equally firm in their rigid surveillance.  Only eye movement of the left most blade darts in communication with the four – no, eight – blades behind me. 

 

Long fingers brush my face as she leans forward. “My apologies, Beloved, but as much as I do enjoy our debates, I didn’t want any of your new allies disturbing us. Father has summoned you for a meeting, and I was tasked with bringing you to him. The alien need not be involved in our discussions.”

 

Her long fingers brush past my ear, pulling away with a few drops of blood. Tracker number five was obviously cut out. “You have become more diligent and comprehensive in your elder years, Beloved.” She brushed a few strands of greying hair. “Although, I must admit, I preferred your raven locks. Father will be able to solve that.”

 

_Over the dead bodies of every ninja in the League._

“You’ve proven an excellent student of my father, but your manners for staying where we want you are abysmal.” Her smirk twisted her words into praise. She always did enjoy someone able to prove themselves superior – as long as it wasn’t of her. “We have quite the journey ahead of us, Beloved. It would be best to rest while you can.” Talia pulled a covered syringe and an unlabelled bottle from her belt, drawing off at least 20 cc of something.

 

I watch, scowling as much as I can with the gag in place, unable to move more than an inch in any direction, as she taps out the air and steps forward. “Hardly honourable,” she agreed, “but you’ve made this a necessity.” The needle slips into my neck, and freezing liquid is slowly chilling my veins. Her hand holds my head steady as she slowly pushes the entire dose into my blood. “Shhh,” she whispers, “Just rest, Bruce. You are where you belong.”

 

The world began to tilt, going grey.

 

_What was it she gave me? What combination of drugs?_ Breathing slowly, I couldn’t even tell which way was up, not even feeling the restraints anymore. Only feel her hands brushing back the loose strands of silver. “Father will be able to solve everything, Beloved.”

 

“You obviously don’t know the meaning of that word, ma’am, if you think this is how you treat your paramour.” Southern drawl, soft voice...

 

_World tilting, slowing down, choking on the tightness around my throat...._

 

“Your presence in this is not required, Alien!” Blades removed from hidden places...like that would work...

 

“Hey, you know, I’m sure he could have cleared an hour in his day.” A blast of cold air moves around, clattering sounds all around. “Have you, like, talked to his PA, because I’m pretty sure that’s her job, to make time for big people to meet with him, without all the hassle of kidnapping.”

 

_So cold, muscles shaking...what was in that...can’t..._

“You would sully the House of al Ghul with...”

 

_...so cold...dark...hide in the dark...call Alfred...need extraction...Alfred?..._

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_Cold and hot all at the same time ... Mommy cradling my face as she pulled the thermometer from under my tongue, and slipped something purple and grape in my mouth instead. ‘It’s ok, Bruce, just stay all curled up. I’ll look after you.’ Her soft hands brush my face as she leans in close, tucking me in with my bear..._

Diana pulled the gag from Bruce’s mouth, easing the ball from between his teeth. His head lowed into her callused palms. She brushed his bangs back, looking into his eyes. “Alfred, his pupils are blown. They’ve drugged him, but I can’t tell with what.”

 

“Hey, should someone be following the creepy assassin lady? I could--”

 

“Cyborg is following on CCTV. Do not engage, Flash.”

 

“I could just, you know, run after...”

 

_“C’mon, Dick, try to walk!” The loud music made me doubt Dick could even hear me. Or the stench of dorm room homebrew wafting off his clothes... drunk walking around the car, trying to keep his lanky body upright as I open the car door. “C’mon, just a little farther!”_

Clark and Diana both took a side, lifting Bruce onto his feet. He swayed between them, but haltingly took a few steps out of the semi. Diana cursed as his body went limp in their grasp. “Bruce, stay awake. Keep moving.”

 

_Ribs protesting under the weight of the boy – no, man now, all 180 pounds of him – finally getting him poured into the back seat. Alfred guided Dick’s head down on the other side of the vehicle. “Seems like old times, sir.”_

Clark stopped, looking at Diana over Bruce’s prone form. “I’ll fly him back to the cave.”

 

_“Everything went smoothly, Dr. Wayne. He’ll be running around none the worse in a month.” It all meant nothing, and it was scary. My stomach hurt so much, and I can’t move and it’s scary and where’s Dad? He said he’d be here, did something go wrong, why is everything loopy?_

_“I’m here, Son. You’re fine now.” Large hands brushed my hair back. “The doctors got rid of that nasty appendix. You’ll be fine.” Dad kept talking, and I still can’t move, and it’s scary and I just want to curl up and make the pain go away..._

“Hold him still!” Alfred’s voice snapped at the two superheroes. Replacing the vial in the syringe, Alfred began taking a replacement blood sample.

 

Clark looked worried, but obeyed the older man’s orders. “Is it poison? Is that why he’s shaking so much?”

 

“Adrenaline is responsible for that, Master Kent, in response to the sedating aspects of whatever Talia gave him. He’s going into shock.”

 

_So cold, wet, hot all the same time... water on his face, coughing as he swallowed the frigid water... “Bruce? Bruce, wake up!” Alfred sounded worried... why was he worried...so hot... and my shoulder burns like it’s on fire... did I burn it? No, Croc, he bit me...what was wrong? ... water sloshing around my ears, on my face... “Bruce, stay awake!”_

 

Clark held Bruce upright in the shower stall, keeping his face hidden in the crook of his neck. “Hey, c’mon, Bruce, wake up and tell me off for being in your space.” He turned the water down another notch, turning his friend into the spray. His skin felt a little cooler, the fever responding to the medications and the cold.

 

_No matter what the mission, time or result, the same routines sank him into peaceful slumber – a final report, cleaning the suit, refueling the various cars. But those missions that end in the medical room always end in the same way – soft words and old hands, brushing over his face in the same pattern for twenty years..._

“You’re back in the Lakehouse, Bruce, it’s alright, you can sleep this off. I dare say you need the sleep, you’ve been working far too much ... just rest now... I’ll be here while you sleep...”

_Both thumbs brushing his brows, the left hand slipping down the bridge of his nose three times, and then both hands tracing his cheek bones. All touches feather light, just the ghost of comfort. A repeat of gentle touches sink him down into slumber, safety in words that no one other than Alfred could communicate, even while fever dreams and medication pull him into the darkness._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: The sleepy face stroking does work on some people, myself and my youngest included. It’s totally not fair and relaxing and cheating. 
> 
> And goddess, I hate making titles.


End file.
